Tuned to Your Wavelength
by ivydevoss
Summary: Summary: Castiel doesn't realize that voyeurism is usually frowned upon. Of course, he does it a little differently than humans do... A/N: The second episode in this very loosely organized "series" is called "The Sounds of Humans" (posted on my account as a separate story).


Castiel tipped his head slightly to one side and narrowed his eyes at Dean, standing absolutely still as if he were concentrating on something.

"You picking up Mexico City there, Cas?" Dean joked, disassembling a shotgun on the bed.

The angel's head slowly tipped back in the other direction. Dean paused in his work for a moment, fascinated by the way it moved. His friend really was a very strange guy, he reflected with a combination of amusement and awe. And affection. Yeah, okay, affection. Having gone ahead and admitted that to himself, Dean quickly turned his focus to his gun again, releasing the action and the barrel with a practiced hand.

The corners of Castiel's mouth didn't actually turn up, but his entire expression seemed to warm a bit. He considered telling Dean that he could hear every thought in the hunter's head, but then decided that this would probably make the human uncomfortable. So instead, despite not understanding the question, he merely answered "Very possibly" in a thoughtful tone, which for some reason made Dean laugh. Castiel wished he were better at predicting which comments would make Dean laugh. If he knew what was funny, he would say funny things all the time. Unfortunately he had never been a very funny angel.

Dean braced the barrel of the gun between his legs so he could get a better angle to poke the cleaning cloth down inside it. This part always felt absurdly sexual to him. He found himself wondering if Castiel was able to recognize visual innuendo, or if he was as oblivious to it as he was to the verbal kind.

Castiel enjoyed observing Dean in his work. The hunter's skill was evident, and the beauty of a job done well was not lost on the angel, although the details of weapon maintenance were of no importance to him. In general, Castiel's opinion was that Dean did most things with great skill. That was why his rare but regular feelings of inferiority in comparison to his younger brother confused Castiel so much. Sam did know many things from books, but Dean knew how to do things such as clean a gun and fix a car and kill a vampire... and take care of a child, obviously, since Sam was still alive. These things seemed just as important as books, if not more so. Castiel wished he could make Dean aware of how talented he was.

Dean withdrew the rod, removed the soiled cloth and replaced it with a clean one in a single deft motion, meanwhile squeezing his knees together to keep the barrel from falling to the ground. He took the opportunity to glance surreptitiously up at Castiel, who was watching him attentively with a small frown of concentration. Usually Dean didn't like being watched while working, but for some reason Castiel's gaze felt like flattery. He wasn't sure why he said it, but the words were suddenly spilling out of his mouth. "Hey, want me to teach you how to clean a gun?"

Castiel didn't have the slightest interest in learning to clean a gun, but he could sense fascinating swirling heated sensations in the hunter's mind, sensations that seemed vaguely oriented towards the angel himself. "Yes, I would like that," he said with perhaps a little more enthusiasm than either of them had expected, and moved to sit next to Dean on the bed.

"Oh, well, all right." Dean scooted automatically away, in order to put at least three inches between them. "Uh, I'm mostly done with this one already, but I'll just show you the basic idea. Watch closely, okay?"

The angel peered forward as if the three inches was an insurmountable distance, and put his hand on the bedspread between them to steady himself. His vessel's smallest finger lightly touched the edge of Dean's thigh through the blue material of his pants. Castiel always noticed such touches, because Dean's soul inhabited his body so intensely that such proximity was impossible to ignore. But to his surprise, this time he felt a similar aching awareness in the hunter's own mind regarding the exact positioning of Castiel's hand, despite the fact that neither of them were looking at the hand in question. Intrigued, he moved his gaze from the gun to Dean's face.

"So..." the hunter cleared his throat, focusing fiercely on the gun. "I've already run the first cleaning cloth through the barrel with some oil on it, now I'm gonna do it again without oil." His hands were steady as he fed the rod with the cloth on it into the barrel of the gun, but his brows were drawn together in a way that made him almost look angry. Castiel knew he wasn't angry, though – the feelings he could sense were mostly positive, if turbulent. He carefully examined Dean's features, trying to figure him out.

"You always need to start with the oil, though," Dean continued, mouth running on automatic as he pushed the rod in and out. "To make sure everything's, y'know, lubricated." He swallowed. "Need to have all the parts working nice and smooth, or else you can get hurt. Safety is the main reason to keep a gun clean. Cas, you're not going to learn anything if you're not watching me."

"But I am watching you."

"Damn it, stop staring at me!"

"You told me to watch closely."

"I didn't mean––" Dean briefly raised his eyes to the ceiling, and then met Castiel's gaze. "Cas. Stop looking at me. Look at the gun."

Castiel obediently aimed his eyes at the gun. He was still watching Dean in his peripheral vision, but the hunter seemed to relax. "Okay. Better." He let out a huff of air. "What was I talking about?"

"Safety. Lubrication."

There was a rather long pause after he spoke these words, and Castiel found it difficult to resist the temptation to turn his head and continue gazing at Dean. Only after being told to stop did he realize exactly how often he looked at Dean. It was sort of his default thing to do. Of course he could still pick up Dean's thoughts and feelings, but it felt weird to have them flowing into his head while staring at a gun. They had gotten more intense and confusing since he had come and sat on the bed. He wished Dean would at least say something. The sound of his voice was pleasant, even when Castiel didn't understand the words.

"Dean?" he prompted.

"Yeah. Right." Dean took a deep breath. "So, now we're finished with the barrel, time to clean the outside with some more oil... like this, see? You don't want to use the dirty cloth, make sure you got a new one."

Castiel was barely paying attention. He was listening to Dean's soul. It was like fireworks.

***


End file.
